


The Shore

by aldergroves



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 04:16:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8782591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aldergroves/pseuds/aldergroves
Summary: Juno can hear the window in his shitty little living room being jiggled open, and he'd look up to see who it is, but he'd frankly rather die, at the moment. His head hurts from a hangover from hell, the socket of his right eye has been throbbing like it’s had a hot needle shoved into it and he's reflecting back on exactly how shitty it was to leave Peter in the hotel room with nothing but an empty bed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> “My feet will not walk anymore  
> So I guess you ought to know the truth  
> I wonder what I am made for  
> If I'm not meant to be with you
> 
> I wish you were here on the shore  
> That we could build up something new  
> I wonder why I am so sure  
> Nothing's stronger than me and you”
> 
> \- Woodkid, “The Shore”.

 

 

Juno can hear the window in his shitty little living room being jiggled open, and he'd look up to see who it is, but he'd frankly rather die, at the moment. His head hurts from a hangover from hell, the socket of his right eye has been throbbing like it’s had a hot needle shoved into it and he's reflecting back on exactly how shitty it was to leave Peter in the hotel room with nothing but an empty bed. He doesn't have anything valuable, anyway. If the intruder wants to, they can just square up and kill him on the spot. Gods knew it would be doing the whole of Mars a favor anyway.  
  
He's got his head buried in the cushions of his couch, socked feet dangling off its edge as he's curled in a pantomime of the fetal position. He's cold, has been so for a while already, but he hasn't been able to force himself to get up from the couch, stinky and third-hand as it might be.  
  
The window opens.  
  
The intruder, whoever it is, takes two steps inside, and Juno can hear the window being closed.

 

Then, the intruder huffs quietly, but even that small noise is enough for Juno to recognize who it is. He can feel himself slowly tensing up, ready for anything, but he still can't bring himself to look up.  
  
The intruder – Nureyev – sighs, and he can hear steps getting closer.  
  
"Oh Juno," he says, and the cushion right by Juno's head slowly sinks down as Peter Nureyev sits down next to him, the physical caricature of misery.  
  
Juno wants to say something, wants to look up, but he can't. Not yet. What if he's just – imagining this. What if?  
  
He's so tense that he forgets to jolt when a gentle hand ends up in his hair, petting through its short length, without product and flopping freely because he hadn't been capable to even bother trying to do anything with it earlier.  
  
He can feel Nureyev toying with his hair, gentle, silent, and Juno has to force his back-muscles to cooperate when he slowly heaves his body up from the couch cushions, to look Nureyev in the eyes.  
  
He doesn't say anything at first, and Peter stays silent as well. He looks tired and sad, but not heartbroken. The better word for his expression would probably be 'stubborn'. Mulish, even. Or like those old Earth dogs -- the bulldogs or whoever who always apparently looked exactly like Peter Nureyev did at this very moment.  
  
"You're here," says Juno, for the lack of anything better to say. "Why?"  
  
"You left," says Nureyev. His hands are both in his lap now, and Juno takes a moment to shove himself completely upright, so he's sitting with his side to the back of the couch, facing Nureyev.  
  
"..." Juno allows himself to take Nureyev in, his pale complexion, the tired purple streaks under his eyes, his slightly wrinkled clothing, obviously the same as from yesterday. He's aware that not everyone could ever get to see the Thief in such a state of disarray. Juno himself probably looked worse, though  
  
"Why did you come here?" asks Juno, and winces because his voice sounds weak, almost wavering.  
  
Nureyev himself has also been taking Juno in -- his loose hair, bruised face and stained and worn home-clothes, his every pore probably oozing a mix of ‘I'm so tired I could sleep for a hundred years' and uncertainty and discomfort.  
  
"You left," Nureyev says again, "without an explanation or even a note. What was I supposed to think, Juno?"  
  
Juno averts his eyes from the man in front of him, draws back slightly from where he'd been unconsciously drifting towards leaning into his space like that was something he could do.  
  
"I left," Juno says. "I – Nureyev – Peter – I – I can't leave," he says. He still can't look Peter in the eyes.  
  
Peter's exhale is a mix of frustration and resignation.  
  
"You foolish man," he says. He doesn't sound as angry as Juno expected, and he has to dart a glance towards him, only to find himself drawn in once again,"That's what communication is for, Juno. I love you, you know that" now, he sounds beseeching, and his gaze bores into Juno's. He couldn't look away if he wanted to.  
  
"I want to _be_ with you, Juno," Peter says, "and I don't mean that in jest. You can't leave Hyperion City, that's fine, but I just want to understand you, you didn’t leave when I gave you an out, you said you l _oved me too_ , Juno, and if both of us are fools then I would like to at least understand my fool, is that so bad?”

 

One of Peter’s hands has found its way on top of one of Juno’s, and he finds his gaze stuck there, unsure if he wants to turn his hand to twine his fingers with Peter’s, or pull away. Nureyev’s hand is warm, and its slight weight is incredibly comforting.

 

Juno averts his eyes to look towards the wall instead of looking at anything to do with Nureyev, and says: “I wonder how you can even look at me, after what I did.” The socket of his right eye is throbbing again, but the pain has gone from ‘hot needle being shoved in’ to a sharp throbbing instead. Guess healing always has to take time. Goddammit.

 

Peter releases his hand, giving Juno just enough time for his stomach to drop because Nureyev is surely going to leave now, isn’t he, convinced by Juno’s self-deprecating bullshit, but instead, he just elegantly nudges himself closer to Juno on the couch, close enough that their knees touch and Peter towers over Juno’s hunched form.

 

“Juno….” Nureyev says, and Juno’s face feels heated from mortification, because emotions are bullshit and that’s exactly what they’re talking about.

 

Nureyev caresses a hand down his cheek, and Juno doesn’t resist when Peter guides his face to turn towards his own with a gentle tilt of his hand.

 

“Talk to me, Juno,” says Nureyev. “Please.” He still looks gentle, almost pleading, and Juno bites his lip, doing his best to not make eye-contact with the man, looking at his chin, his mouth, his stupid round ears or his hair instead. Eye contact feels like far too much in this moment.

 

“What do you want me to say?” asks Juno, “I don’t understand how you can even be talking to me right now, Nureyev, didn’t it hurt when I left you? Aren’t you angry at me? How can you even look at me? Why do you want to talk to me?” he can’t stop his voice from rising at the end, chest filling with anger at himself, indignant at his own stupidity.

 

Nureyev strokes a finger against his cheek, and Juno stills.

 

“Oh Juno,” Nureyev says again, his voice incredibly gentle.

 

He taps Juno against the cheek with the same finger, two small taps. “Juno, could you look at me please?”

 

Juno does.

 

“I thought you left,” Juno says. “You were going to. You said you would.”

 

“Did you want me to leave?” Nureyev asks.

 

Mutely, Juno shrugs, and slowly shakes his head.

 

“You don’t want to leave Hyperion City, I can see that,” Nureyev says. “and Juno, I – I did say I would leave, on my own, if you didn’t want to come with me, to chase that brave new future, but I…”

 

His hands fidget on Juno’s cheeks, but he still keeps hold, gently, like Juno is a treasure instead of a massive fuck-up, like Juno means the world to him. Juno feels like he’s drowning.

 

“I just wanted to speak to you again about it, at least just once,” Nureyev says. “Juno, you matter to me, and I – “ he breaks off again, seemingly almost speechless himself, but then shakes himself, forces himself to continue, “I want to see the universe, Juno, I want to see what’s in it and how far it goes, but I couldn’t do that without being sure that you’re alright- I couldn’t just leave things where they were.”

 

Juno bites at his lip, eyes torn down again, and he can’t recall when he last was so incapable of looking anyone in the eyes, despite all of the times he’d fucked up in the past.

 

“You and I, Juno, we are free to make whatever decisions we want to make, and the universe is so grand… But if you want to stay here, that’s fine too. But could you… also keep room for Peter Nureyev in your heart, Juno? I’d like to come back to you, if I could...”

 

Juno can feel his brows wrinkle. Nureyev wanted to leave? But also to come back? To him?

 

“Nureyev – “ Juno starts, before correcting himself – “Peter, you… You want to come back to me?”

 

“As much as possible,” says Nureyev. “If you want me here.”

 

“If I – ?” Juno stifles an incredulous laugh, “you’d stay here? You’d want to be with me, despite –?”

 

“Yes, Juno,” says Nureyev.

 

Juno chokes slightly on his next inhale, breath hitching as he’s looking into Nureyev’s eyes again, and can find only sincerity and honesty reflected back from them, no matter how many times he has to dart his now only seeing eye back and forth between them.

 

“Are you – are you sure?” he asks again, just because he can’t believe it.

 

“Yes,” Nureyev says. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life, Juno. If there’s any space in your heart – and your life – for me, I would gladly occupy it, I would have tomorrow belong to both of us, even if sometimes we’re in different places, on different planets, even. I would gladly call myself yours, Juno, if you were alright with being called mine.”

 

Juno’s got something in his eye, there’s no way he’s about to start crying, but he nods, a rapid series of small inclinations of his head, not enough to shake off Nureyev’s hands, but enough to make his headache remind him of its existence again, sharply. He doesn’t give a shit. Instead, he leans in to kiss Nureyev – small kisses, like he doesn’t want to stop, first kissing his left cheek, then his right cheek, then glancing across his lips, to the corner of his mouth, until Peter pulls him into a proper kiss, gently pressing their lips together.

 

Then, he draws away, hands shifting to Juno’s shoulders instead, and Juno discovers that his own hands have migrated their way from his lap to holding onto the other man’s shoulders, gripping him almost desperately.

 

“Please,” Juno says. “Please, that would be – you would – we could –“ he cuts himself off, unsure of how he was going to end that thought, “Could you stay today?” he asks, before he can flinch, before he can stop himself from making it a demand, “Would you – I know I left but I want to be with you and – you probably don’t want to stay long, do you, but could you just stay for a while, please Nureyev?”

 

Nureyev smiles like it hurts, and he draws Juno into a hug, arms firm and right around him.

 

“I’ll stay for as long as you want me to, Juno,” he says. “I’m in no hurry to leave you quite yet.”

 

Juno feels like his chest is about to burst, and he hides his face in Nureyev’s shoulder, his own hands gripping Nureyev as well, and he _really_ doesn’t want to let go.

 

 

They stay in that embrace for a good part of the next while, just leaning into each other, until Juno feels his legs slowly starting to cramp from the forced position they’re in. Nureyev seems to be in the same position, because he slowly lets go of Juno. The shorter man tries not to feel like he’s suddenly very cold, but he warms up again quickly, because instead of completely letting go of Juno, Nureyev reaches for his right arm and moves to stand by his side, in his blindspot, the weight and warmth of his arm a warm reminder of the fact that Juno is not alone nor vulnerable.

 

“How about we go to bed for now?” Nureyev asks, and Juno nods.

 

“Might as well,” he says.

 

So they do. They don’t get up to anything else, but they fold their clothes up in quiet unison, before getting into Juno’s bed, sometimes barely large enough for one person, let-alone two, but they make it work – Nureyev’s grip on Juno is firm but gentle, and he cuddles into the spy without any further reservations, deciding to leave any further potential angst into the next day. For now, he had Nureyev, and Nureyev had him. That would be enough. They could deal with tomorrows and what came next later.

  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I... haven't ficced in a while (or almost at all, to be honest), but I enjoyed season one of the Penumbra Podcast and Juno hurt me deeply with his decision to leave after episode 18, so I wrote this as a fix-it of sorts, just to mesh some emotions together and make some sense.
> 
> If you like what you read, then comments are always welcome! 
> 
> If you wish, you can find me on tumblr as aldergroves c:


End file.
